Any Other Night
by 8belles
Summary: CA:FA, Steve is the Star Spangled Man selling war bonds. Susan a jaded showgirl on tour with him. A very lonely Steve needs someone to talk to, Susan needs someone to restore her faith. No romance, just sweetness. Cap/OC and I don't normally write OC's but this tale needed some telling.


Any Other Night

The energetic tune "Star Spangled Man" played out perfectly, filling the hall with a swell of patriotism as if the music itself was red, white and blue. Her friends sang the chorus right on pitch while she lip-synced the words because she was a flyer. She was going to need her breath for something else besides singing.

Captain America had socked 'Adolph Hitler' in the face from behind her friend Margaret in the chorus line for the ten thousandth time. Occasionally, Joe complained about how Steve almost didn't miss or was a bit too spirited in his 'attack'. Mostly, he just griped about how the padding in his suit didn't make the stage floor any softer to his ass.

Now it was her turn.

Steve lifted her up effortlessly by the waist onto the motorbike like she was a feather. He was always a gentleman though, and placed her down lightly over the saddle. It still gave her little thrills when he set his hands on her despite having done this in nearly every state in the lower 48 multiple times. Cap always had that same warm, sweet smile and mischievous light in his eyes. She couldn't help but smile back at him in spite of herself, no matter what an ordinary night it was. Susan felt in her bones he was just being a genuinely good guy. Steve was really just too good to be true, and it worried her sometimes. Scooting forward, her two companions, also lip-syncing, were settled in behind her. Grasping the handlebars, her partners behind her holding on to her waist, they waited for the grand finale.

With a great heave, Captain America lifted the motorbike and three ladies over his head in a clear and jerk deadlift. The ladies swayed slightly working hard to balance their mass on the saddle of the motorcycle above Steve's head. The crowd went wild with enthusiasm and patriotic fervor. The girls could practically see the dollars being thrown onto the stage through the glaring lights. From up high, Susan could see first row of the balcony. The generals and senators nodding enthusiastically to themselves and whispering conspiratorially to each other, fingers steepled before their noses like scheming devils. They gave her the willies. She knew what their game was and tonight, it was bothering her.

Narrowing her eyes, but keeping that ever-perky smile on her face, she considered leaving the show, tired of renting herself out to the slimy generals. But, the money was really good in this gig, considering her options in _this_ economy. _Rosie the Riveter, anyone?_ she thought unhappily, keeping her perfect cheer smile and hands wrapped around the handlebars as the band finished the music.

Working with Steve Rogers every day was a complete dream and she got to see a lot more of the country than she ever thought she would or could. Maybe she'll stay just a bit longer… see Europe, the next stop on tour. Then she'd quit this dog and pony show. Now if only her mom would stop nagging her about getting married. My goodness, she was only twenty-two!

Thankfully, the curtain closed with a heavy swish of red velvet. Finally out of the glaring spotlight, dots of color were etched onto her retinas as she heard Steve's voice below, always on the positive, "Great show ladies! You three ok up there?" There was a tidal wave of sound calling for an encore on the other side of the curtain. Susan heard Steve's name called out by the ever-present fan girls in the audience. Who could blame them_? I guess I'm jaded,_ Susan observed to herself.

He always asked if they were ok after every show while he still had them suspended in mid air.

" Yes, Steve. Thanks for asking. Great job." Became Susan's typical reply or some variant. The other two girls were fairly recent understudies to the job; the originals having run off to get married with the few men who were left behind. These two were still shell-shocked that Steve Rogers picked them up on a motorbike nearly every night. Their glazed expressions were riveted on him below. Susan sighed, gently shaking her head.

"Great. Let me get you all down, safe and sound." Steve always replied without any indication of over exertion as if this was as simple as getting a kitten from a tree.

The motorcycle came down with a soft thump and Rogers deftly engaged the kickstand with his red boot. Offering a hand, he guided the two ladies on the back of the saddle off first. They coyly blushed and giggled to themselves behind batted eyelashes, scuttling off as the roadies began breaking down the stage where they stood. The show was due in Cleveland in the morning!

Steve looked at Susan with his azure eyes under the helmet, that playful boy smile tugging at the corners of his lips like he didn't have a care in the world. Susan had worked with Steve long enough, and she was wise enough in her youth, to know different. She could see the shadows in his gaze. Proffering a hand, he said, "Susan."

"Thank you, Steve. Nice work there today." She didn't want to get into what was causing that darkness. She just wanted to change clothes from this ridiculous get up into something more comfy and fashionable. A glass of scotch was calling her name too from her personal stash. Working for the federal government had _some _benefits during wartime rations.

"You as well." Rogers replied easily, seeming to hold her fingers a bit longer than their usual end-of-show farewell before retiring to their respective changing rooms.

Susan turned to depart, but her conscience stopped her. Rewinding on her heel, her womanly intuition confirmed it; he was still standing there, looking at her, an almost confused expression haunting him. Normally, if this were any other night like the hundreds before, he'd have retired to his tiny changing room (she knew it was tiny because her pal Margaret spied on him changing once) to also be rid of his silly costume. Apparently this was not 'any other night'.

Curbing her sigh of frustration and knowing how Margaret was going to gossip this moment around to all the girls, she stepped closer and asked, "Steve, is there something bothering you?"

Steve glanced at the floor, then her, his boot and her and then anywhere else but at her.

"Steve, stop acting like a school boy on the playground." Susan griped at him. A headache began to work its way up the back of her neck.

He looked up at her from the floor, clearing his throat nervously, "Susan… I. We."

"Spit it out Rogers." Susan said wondering _how jaded_ she had become that she wasn't at all flustered at the most eligible and handsome man in America was talking to her face to face.

"Ok. I've known you since I got signed onto this gig after… Well, never mind." He began uncertainly with pleading eyes then halted his speech.

"Rogers, I swear. You're worse than a puppy. And less endearing." Susan stated plainly and turned to walk away.

His hand around her arm stopped her. She froze. He never touched any of the girls unless he had to in performance. He barely _talked _to any of them, and the roadies wouldn't give him time of day claiming he was a 'pansy in his tights'.

"Susan, I need someone to talk to. I've known you a pretty long time. Can we meet up after we change?" came the finally firm confident Brooklyn tone she was used to hearing in him.

Maybe the poor guy was just lonely.

Looking up, over her shoulder, the blue satin halter top shining against her pale slightly freckled skin and her spangled top hat leaning over her brunette pin curls, she saw just how lonesome the poor guy was. Summoning a polite expression, she replied, "Sure, Steve. Back by the stage door. Ten minutes."

The smile he returned was the most genuine she'd ever seen on his face, and she had to admit, it warmed her world-weary heart.

* * *

It was spring in Toledo, but the wind off the lake was chilly as it blew in from the shore a few blocks away. Susan stood in the alleyway with her cardigan and a coat over her shoulders in the night air, her flask of scotch tucked neatly into an interior pocket. She watched the roadies moving the props and stage into the trucks. Another truck held the bands' instruments. The night air smelled of cigarette smoke and sounded like cussing. Her coworkers had long ago gone to bed, or out with some friends they had "acquired" after the show.

"Susan?" Steve's voice came out from the shadow of the stage door.

Startling, she pivoted, "For a big guy, you are pretty quiet."

Steve gave an awkward smile, "Umm… wanna climb up on the fire escape… to talk?"

Susan looked dubiously up the brick wall at the rickety iron. Hell, she was suspended above this man's head on a motorcycle night after night. How could this be more risky? "Sure"

"Ok." He reached up and pulled down the ladder easily. Holding out his hand, ever the gentleman, he helped her to the first step.

"No looking up my skirt, Rogers." Susan warned with a stern look.

A disbelieving expression crossed his face as if he had never thought of that before. Susan had to laugh as she climbed to the first level, then the second, "You really _are _a goodie goodie, aren't you?"

"Is that a bad thing?" Steve asked more rhetorically than factually as he kept his eyes firmly on the ground. Bucky had often remarked the same about him. Teased, more like it, that Steve would never talk to a woman that James didn't hunt down and present to him because of his awkwardness.

Joining her on the second landing, she looked at him with a kindness she forgot she had, "No. It's not. Rather refreshing, I think."

Steve looked again anywhere but at her because of the compliment.

"Drink?" she offered her flask.

"I'm ok. Thanks." he replied, shifting his weight as if nervous.

"Hope you don't mind if I do." she responded.

"Nope. Go right ahead." Rogers gazed out from the rail.

Susan took a long sip, "So what is on your mind, Spangled Man?"

Steve kept quiet and actually stopped fidgeting for a moment. Susan waited patiently and then he replied quietly, "I think I'm in love."

Susan choked, mid swig of her flask. Steve looked at her alarmed.

"What?" Susan blurted out once she reestablished airflow.

Steve's eyes widened as he caught the meaning of her distress, "Oh. Oh… no. Not with you."

Her eyes narrowed quickly after her initial reaction.

Steve raised his hands, palm up, "I'm sorry. I… I didn't just insult you. Did I?"

Susan inhaled, almost wishing she smoked for something to calm her nerves, "No, Steve. You didn't. Just a bit of surprise. Not every day Captain America confesses he's in love. Who's the lucky girl?"

Steve blushed and looked back down at the roadies and trucks, "Her name is Peggy. Margaret Carter."

Susan had heard of this Peggy from some of the G.I.'s she'd met; supposedly some great firebrand of the Royal Army working for the U.S.A. at the Italian front, kicking butt and taking names. Sounded like someone out of Steve's league. In fact, after their Cleveland engagement, they were shipping out to Carter's approximate location. Susan remembered she conveniently _forgot _to tell her mother that.

" I miss her." his tone was forlorn. He really looked like he could use a drink.

The stillness settled between them; two coworkers who hadn't said much of substance to each other in the last six months except pleasantries apparently were now best of friends. Susan decided that he was just adrift looking for an anchor. She could sympathize with that and took another drink.

"Anything else?" she asked, her breath beginning to cloud in the chill.

"I miss my best friend." he added leaning his elbows and arms on the railing.

"Where is he?" she asked gazing at his profile.

"He's a sergeant with the 107th. Shipped out before I became_… this_." Steve gestured almost dismissively to himself.

"We're going there next month. After the Cleveland show." Susan offered hoping it helped. Sometimes she wasn't always the best with words.

"Yeah. I hope I see him. But part of me doesn't want him to see me like … _this._ Same with Peggy. She was there. When I was changed. And _this _is not what I

had in mind." A hint of bitterness tinged his voice like a decision that he wasn't given a choice in was thrust upon him. She knew it was the show. From the first day, it was pretty apparent that singing and dancing for war bonds wasn't the way he wanted to serve his country.

"Tell me about it. About them. Just get it out. You'll feel better." Susan offered, turning to lean her elbows back on the railing, facing him in the night gloom.

"You sure? It's a long story. And you gotta promise not to tell." Steve brightened a little.

"Hey, I used to be a Girl Scout." Susan smiled and Steve smiled back, "And somewhere in here," she tapped her chest, "Is an honest person that I don't show off very often. I won't tell a soul."

Steve looked relieved as if a weight was pulled off his shoulders, "I knew I could count on you, Susan."

"Well, technically it's the other way around on that bike." she chuckled, partially out of the irony and partly that she was apparently becoming Steve Rogers therapist.

"I guess so." his face became more animated as he began to tell her the story of how he first met Bucky Barnes and Peggy Carter.

* * *

True to her word, Susan didn't say a thing that day when she glimpsed from under a dripping tent flap, a rain soaked Steve Rogers and Peggy Carter take off in a jeep against Col. Phillips orders.

She guessed it wasn't going to be any another night for him and that Steve had finally found his purpose. It certainly wasn't selling war bonds and lifting girls over his head. Susan found it hard to keep the smile from her face seeing that jeep.

"Go get 'em Steve." she whispered.


End file.
